On Tour (5 page)

"I'll do it," I said suddenly. I was tired of life on the road and disillusioned with being a rock star. Maybe going back home to a fresh, new challenge would be just the thing. Yeah, this was how I got myself in over my head. "Not permanently, but I could do it for a couple of months to get it organized. That way we could make sure it's worth hiring a full-time person."

"But what about being a rock star? I thought you were going to record an album with Carlos."

"That's on hold right now. I need some down time from being a pirate."

"And a couple of months in a tampon factory sounds like a good alternative to you?"

I could hear the sarcasm in Carol's voice. But the truth was, it did sound better. I was worn out with touring, and I wanted time to catch my breath.

"Sure," I replied enthusiastically.

"You're weird," Carol said, "but you're a great partner. When can you start?"

"Our final performance here is Saturday. I'm cruising home with Mark right after. So I should be ready to go a week from Monday."

When I hung up with Carol, Mark looked over and asked, "Got a new gig?"

"Yep," I replied. "Supervisor at the tampon factory."

He shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"That's why you love me." I gave him a big smile and patted his leg.

The debriefing with Andre, Ashley, and the producers wasn't going so well. I was pretty sure that despite the success of the tour, they were all wishing I'd stayed in Annapolis. Phil and Roger, their tanned, lined faces carrying equally incredulous looks, sputtered and huffed the most about my latest predicament.

Phil gulped his martini. "A hitman! That's completely insane."

"Bad mojo," agreed Roger. He shrugged his shoulders, looking around the room. "Let the record show, I warned you all."

"She's a drama queen. Always has been," Ashley added. "Wait until The Parents hear about this."

"You're going to tattle on me? Real mature, Ashley."

We had some odd family dynamics. "The Parents" consisted of my mother, Brandy, and my stepfather, Dave, my father, George, and my stepmother, Anne. They lived next door to each other at The Meadows, a 55+ golf community. They moved to The Meadows because each of The Parents had one older relative in their care, aka "The Grands," and things would be easier to manage if everyone was in the same place, right? In reality it meant a lot of extra work for me and Ashley.

"Hey, I'm not the one with a hitman after me!" Ashley replied.

"Okay, no problem. When you get them on the phone, I'd like to have a chat with them too. I'm sure they'd love to hear all about the time—" 

"This is serious," Andre interrupted. "It's not a deranged fan. This is a professional."

Ashley looked abashed. "I'm sorry. When I'm worried I get bitchy. How are we going to protect her at the performance?"

"I'm working on that," Mark replied, running his hand through his hair.

"Marsha's on her way. She's going to play Diana's double and hopefully lure him into the open so we can catch him."

"Oh," cried Phil sarcastically, "didn't realize we're dealing with a blind hitman. That changes everything! 'Cause he'd have to be blind not to notice we'd switched out Marsha for her." He gestured towards me.

Roger chimed in, "No offense, Queenie Baby, but that redhead's packin' more than just heat. I don't care if you put a wig on her or not. There's not a man in the world who's going to mistake her for you. She's va-va-va-voom material!"

"Thanks." I grimaced at his use of Granddaddy Hacker's nickname for me. My family, friends, and sometimes even complete strangers, felt free to use the annoying term of endearment. Just what I wanted to hear.

"I think that's a solid idea, Mark." I caught Andre's dreamy look and narrowed my eyes at him.

I turned on Andre. "Really? I see you're already getting worked up about guarding her va-va-va-voom body. Well, you're supposed to be my bodyguard, remember?"

Andre grinned at me. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

I left the room in search of my own martini. In the kitchen I found the remnants of what I could only assume was a pirates' feast. The band and Carlos were no longer around, but they'd left the kitchen and dining room trashed. A couple empty rum bottles littered the counter along with over-turned cups, empty chip bags, and a pineapple that still had a long handled dagger stuck through the side.

What's the only thing worse than pirates?

Rock star pirates.

Mark found me sulking and nursing my second martini on the deck outside the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck.

"There you are. Get your bag. We're going out to watch the sunset on the boat."

I glanced up. "Not worried my bad mojo will sink it?"

"Nah, besides I figure there's a better chance of getting shot at by an assassin if we stay here."

"Nice thought."

He nibbled on my neck. I felt my stomach flip-flop. "Maybe find some below-deck time?" he murmured.

"Is that what they're calling it now?" I teased.

He lifted me off my feet—no easy task since I'm almost six feet tall—and twirled me around towards the French doors. "Get movin' or we'll miss the sunset."

"Aye, aye Captain!" I gave him a mock salute as I left.

*  *  *

The wind whipped my hair, and the sun warmed my bare arms and legs.

I was wearing my favorite cutoffs and a bikini top. I'd brought my guitar and a small overnight bag. Water sprayed lightly over the deck as the boat motored farther out on the bay. The sun was only inches above the horizon when Mark dropped anchor and brought out a bottle of wine. The shoreline was barely visible in the distance. Finally, we were alone.

He handed me a glass. "Remind you of anything?"

I smiled. "Yeah, but where's the annoying white dog?"

He laughed. "Max sure did throw a wet blanket on our first real date." Mark had taken me on a sunset cruise in Annapolis and had made the mistake of bringing Max along for the ride and forgetting the fire hydrant. "Well, it was memorable if nothing else."

He leaned down and kissed me. I set my glass down and wrapped my arms around his neck. The kissing escalated. My top dropped to the deck. His lifted me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

"It's been too long," I whispered against his lips.

He growled a response and carried me towards the hatch. He stopped and put me down gently. I leaned back against the rough metal of the boat. The wind was up, and my hair blew wildly across my face.

He held me at arm's length for a moment and gave me a long, leisurely look starting at my bare, brown feet and ending at my upturned lips. "All I can say is va-va-va-voom!"

I laughed. "If you like that, then I've got something else for you." I peeled off my shorts and threw them at his head as I dashed down the stairs.

Hours later, I slipped out of the bed and pulled on a short robe. It was a little stuffy in the large, well-appointed living room so I grabbed my guitar and headed to the deck.

The winds had died down, leaving only a soft breeze from the west. Lights twinkled along the distant coastline. I checked my cell phone for the time. Almost midnight.

Looking out at the miles of empty water, I felt at peace for the first time since the attempted poisoning. Mark was here, and everything was going to be alright now.

I plucked softly at my guitar thinking over the past day. Tyrell's words kept rolling through my mind like a needle stuck in the worn groove of an old record.

"You gotta catch yourself girl. Ain't no one gonna do it for you."

That was the truth. It was up to me get out of this mess. And if I was sick of being a pirate, then I'd better do something about it before I was swept along by the desires of others.

My fingers picked up speed on the strings of the guitar. It was time for me to take charge of my career.
You'd better catch yourself, girl. You know they're going to watch you fall.
I searched around for the paper and pen I kept in my guitar case. The words came out edgy, and the guitar took up the feeling with hard rock riffs.

It felt good. Although I sang a lot of rock covers, I'd only written lighter, island-country songs.

I'd scribbled half a page of lyrics when Mark appeared on the deck.

"I like chasing you around. Much more fun than chasing bad guys." He kissed me on the head and took a seat beside me on the deck furniture.

"I'll have to remember that," I replied. "Make it more interesting for you next time."

He laughed. "Deal. Working on your next number one pirate hit?"

I grimaced. "Nope. I'm done with pirates. This is pure rock 'n roll." I launched into the chorus of the song.

When I'd finished, Mark let out a long whistle. "Love it."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Not sure what your swashbuckling fans are going to think, though."

"I don't care. I want to go back to playing small venues in a pair of jeans. Not a pirate hat."

"You know you've got my complete support. I just don't want you to lose what you've worked so hard for."

"I don't have anything to lose," I insisted. "I worked hard at being a singer/songwriter. This pirate thing came out of nowhere. Every time I get on that stage with Carlos and The Band of Brethren I feel like I'm doing a pirate review show at Six Flags. Sure I wrote 'The Rum Song,' but it just doesn't
feel
like my song anymore."

"What about the album?"

I sighed. "I'm already committed to that. And really it seems stupid to do all this touring and not get in on the album. But I'm definitely taking a month or so off to help Carol before doing the album. I want to feel like a normal person again."

Mark snorted. "Normal people don't have hitmen trying to kill them."

"Exactly!" I put my guitar down and jumped to my feet. "Before all this pirate stuff my life was normal."

Mark raised an eyebrow.

"It was," I insisted. "Okay, maybe my family is a little different, but really my life was pretty normal."

"Well, one thing at a time. Let's get the hitman before he gets you. Then you can worry about the rest of your life."

Yeah, easy-peasy.

*  *  *

My phone rang. I jumped up out of bed like I'd been shot out of a cannon. Mark was gone. But the smell of coffee indicated he was close by.

I fumbled around in the bright cabin looking for the phone. I pulled the covers up to my chest and settled back against the pillows as I answered.

"Hi, Mom."

The phone made a funny sound, so I pulled it away from my ear to check the screen. My mom's fluffy, Farrah Fawcett hair and heavily made up eyes stared back at me.

"Diana, can you hear me!" she shouted. And then, "Are you still in bed?"

"Yes, Mom." I glared at the screen. "Why are you FaceTiming me?"

"Is that what this is?" My mom looked confused and turned the phone upside down. "I just got this phone, and I can't work a dang thing on it."

"Mom, what do you want?"

My mom's face came back into view. "Wow, you musta had some night! Looks like you could fit a week's worth of groceries in those bags under your eyes."

"Thanks so much. What do you want?" I repeated.

There was some shuffling behind my mother. "Give me that dad-burned phone," I heard Granddaddy Hacker say. I could see his gray beard moving into the picture.

"No, Granddaddy," my mom said, shooing him away, "I've got to talk to her first." My mom turned her attention back to me, her face serious. "Diana, I just got off the phone with your sister."

Oh, boy. Here we go.

"You've been receiving threatening letters? Are you okay? Have you called the police?" My mom's questions came out in a rush.

"I'm fine, Mom," I said more confidently than I felt. "I'm on Mark's boat right now, and we're perfectly safe. Between him and Andre, I have plenty of protection. They're working with the police to track down the hitman."

"Hitman? What hitman!" my mom cried, her heavily mascaraed eyes blinking rapidly. "Ashley didn't say anything about a hitman."

I sighed. Great. Just great.

"Evidently there's a hitman to go along with the letters."

My mom's face registered disbelief, and then she started laughing. "You girls! You two had me going!" She covered the phone like it was an old-style receiver. "Dave! The girls were pulling my leg," she said, calling my stepfather over.

My mom pulled her hand away from the phone, and Dave's face came into view. He looked startled to see me staring back.

"Whoa! What's with the hairdo?" he asked, squinting into the phone. "Why are we seeing her, anyway?" he asked my mom. "There're some things I don't need to see first thing in the morning."

"You had me going for a minute, Diana! You overplayed your hand, though," my mom wagged a long red talon at the phone. "You lost me at the hitman."

Whatever. "Okay, Mom. Just trying to give you a laugh."

"More like a heart attack." There was some more scuffling behind her. "Granddaddy wants to talk to you." She handed the phone to Granddaddy Hacker.

He held it up to his mouth like it was a walkie-talkie. "Ken ya hear me, Queenie Baby?"

I could see his dentures clacking. Yuck! And why, oh why, did he have to call me by that silly nickname?

"I'm here, Granddaddy!" I yelled. "Get the phone out of your mouth!"

"Well, ya don' have to holler at me." He lowered the phone and peered at me like he was looking into a peep hole. "Hey, lookey there! That there's modern technology for ya." His shaggy gray beard fluttered as he cackled into the phone. His wrinkled face showed his age, but his blue eyes twinkled mischievously. 

"How're you doing, Granddaddy?"

"Good! I got me a girlfriend," he said proudly.

"Really?"

"Yep. Her name is Margaret. She's only eighty. Guess that makes me a cradle-robber." He guffawed at his joke.

More like a grave-robber. I know, I know. Wrong to even think it.

"That's great Granddaddy. I can't wait to meet her."